Stealing Phoenix

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© Joss Stirling 2011

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First published 2011

First published in this eBook edition 2011

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ISBN: 978-0-19-275719-7

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The boy seemed the perfect target. He stood at the back of a group taking the tour of the London Olympic stadium, attention on the construction vehicles beetling up the huge ramp to the athletes’ entrance, not on the thief watching him. The building was nearly finished and to my mind resembled a giant soup plate stuck in a wire salad shaker on a green tablecloth. All that was left to do was the last-minute landscaping and put in place the final touches before the world arrived for the games. Others from the Community worked on the site and had taught me where to get in past the tight security. I’d been in a couple of times before because tourists like these students made easy pickings. I had plenty of time to scope out my victim and not many people around to mess up my approach. If I got a good haul I could relax for the rest of the day, head off for my favourite haunt of the local library, and not have to worry about the repercussions of coming home empty-handed.

Crouching behind a parked JCB loader, I studied my target. It had to be the one I was meant to hit: no one else was tall enough and he fitted the photo I’d been shown. With jet black hair, tanned skin, confident stance, he looked as if he wouldn’t miss a mobile phone or wallet. Probably had insurance or parents to step in and make up the loss immediately. That made me feel better, because stealing stuff wasn’t something I did by choice; it was a means of survival. I couldn’t see his face full on, but he had the distracted air of someone whose thoughts were often elsewhere, feet shifting about, not looking where the others did as the guide pointed out the features of the Olympic Park. I guessed that was good news as dreamers made excellent marks, reacting too slowly to a snatch. He was wearing knee-length khaki shorts and a T-shirt with ‘Wrickenridge White Water Rafting’ running across his broad shoulders. He looked like he worked out so I’d have to get this right. I probably wouldn’t be able to outrun him if he chased after me. I retied the shoelaces on my ratty pair of Keds, hoping they’d hold out.

So where were his valuables? Shifting slightly, I saw that he had a backpack slung over one shoulder. Had to be in there.

I edged out from my hiding place, hoping I blended in to the group with my cut-off jeans and tank top—my best and newest clothes which I had nicked from Top Shop the week before. One of the downsides of my ability is that, to make a successful strike, I have to be close to the group I’m working on. That was always the riskiest part. I had prepared by bringing a canvas bag I’d taken from a boutique in Covent Garden, the kind foreign visitors buy as a souvenir with ‘London Calling’ scrawled on it in arty graffiti. I was fairly confident I could pass myself off as a rich visitor like them if they took the scruffy shoes as a deliberate fashion statement, but I wasn’t sure I could pull off looking intelligent enough to belong to their party. According to my source, they had come in from London University and were attending a conference on Environmental Science or some such geeky stuff. I’d barely been to school, educating myself in informal lessons from others in the Community and what I’d read on my own in libraries, so I couldn’t speak Science Student if anyone challenged me.

Pulling my hair out of its elastic band, I brushed a couple of long, dark strands forward to flop over my face, the better to hide me from the CCTV camera on the wall ten metres away. I sidled up to two girls standing a metre or so from my target. They were dressed in shorts and tanks like me, though from the pallor of the blonde one’s skin she had spent way more time indoors this summer than I had. The other had three piercings in her ear, which I hoped made my five a bit less noticeable. They gave me a sideways look then a cautious smile.

‘Hi, sorry I’m late,’ I whispered. I had been briefed that none of them knew each other well, having only arrived for their conference the night before. ‘Have I missed anything good?’

The one with the earrings grinned at me. ‘If you like wildflower meadows. They’ve seeded the place with weeds, at least that’s what my grandaddy would call them.’ She had an accent from America’s deep south, dripping with sugar and magnolia. Her hair was braided in tight cornrows that made me think ‘ouch’ just looking at them.

The fair-haired one bent close. ‘Don’t listen to her. It’s fascinating.’ She also had an accent—Scandinavian maybe. ‘They’re using a light polymer-based membrane for the roof. I played about with the formula for that in the lab last semester: it will be interesting to see how well it holds up.’

‘Oh yeah, like that’s really … um … cool.’ I was intimidated by them already: they were clearly geniuses and still managed to look good.

The guide beckoned the group forward and we walked up the ramp into the stadium itself. Despite my reasons for being there, I couldn’t help feeling the thrill of treading in the same path as the Olympic torch. Not that I’d ever have the chance of being there for the real thing; my dreams of following any kind of sport had never got off the starting blocks. Unless, that was, the Olympic Committee decided to go wild and introduce a medal for thieves—then I might stand a chance. I knew the exhilaration of making a successful steal, the elegant sweep-in and clean get-away; surely that took as much skill as running in circles round some dumb track? Yeah, I was a gold medallist in my discipline.

As the cheerful female guide waved her parasol to encourage us to follow her, we entered into the great oval space of the stadium. Wow. I’d never got this far before on my other excursions on to the site. I could hear in my head the echoes of the cheering crowd. Rows and rows of empty seats filled with shadows of their occupants-to-be. I hadn’t realized the future held ghosts as well as the past, but I could sense them clearly. The energy rippled through time even to this quiet Wednesday morning in July.